


Blood, Guts and Chocolate Cake

by CaptainYellow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dark Ginny Weasley, Dark Harry Potter, Dark fic, F/M, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Romance, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-07-29 07:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16259288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainYellow/pseuds/CaptainYellow
Summary: She belongs to him. Her body, her heart, her soul. For there is no Ginny Weasley without Tom Riddle... He promised to never let her go and now he is back. [ON HIATUS]





	1. Blood

Michael Corner pulls her toward him and covers her mouth with his own. She tilts her head slightly, allowing him to deepen the kiss. He tastes faintly of pumpkin juice and chocolate frogs. With an anguished moan, he presses her against the cold castle stone, his hands roaming over her body.

“Ginny, Ginny, Ginny.” He whispers between hot kisses.

A shiver runs down her spine and suddenly silence surrenders her.

_Stupid Little Ginny._

Her fingers curl into fits on Michael's shoulders. She tries to sink into the feel of his ragged breath ghostling her cheek, but all she can hear is the thumping of her heart against her chest.

_Mine! You're mine!_

She shoves Michael away from her as hard as she can. He stumbles back, eyes opening wide in confusion.

_Good girl._

Sweat drenches her skin. His voice feels like icy daggers straight to her heart. She must be dreaming. He is dead, she is sure of it.

“What's wrong?” Michael asks.

“Stay back!”

Tears start to cloud her eyes. The air becomes thicker, harder to breathe. He is dead. Tom is dead.

_Am I?_

“Merlin! You're crying, Ginny.”

Michael moves toward her and she pulls out her wand.

“I said stay back!”

The tip of her wand buzzes dangerously. Michael watches her with a wounded look on his face.

“Did I do something wrong?”

No. He did nothing wrong.

_Of course, he did!_

Slowly, Michael reaches out and puts a warm palm on her cheek.

“Tell me, what's wrong?” He brushes some tears away.

Her inside clenches. She feels it again, the darkness that possessed her three years ago. He wants to jump right out of her skin, and the thought of it terrifies her. Her trembling fingers tighten around her wand. He is back, she knows it.

_Did you miss me, Little Ginny?_

She squeezes her eyes shut. Tom is back. How is this possible?

_Well, I promised to never let you go, didn't I? Now, tell this idiot you're mine._

“I'm not yours!”

She swishes her wand viciously. The incantation escapes her mouth before she knows it. It is a spell she has never heard about. A streak of purple flame strikes Michael right across the chest like a blunt knife.

Michael stares at her with wide eyes. He lets out a small cry, then blood oozes out of his mouth. The colour drains out of his face as he collapses to the floor.

She slumps against the cold castle stone. Michael's once warm eyes are now a scary pale blue. Tears burst forth again, spilling down her face.

What have you done, Tom?

_Me? I didn't do anything._

You killed him!

_But it wasn't me, Little Ginny. Look at your hands._

She looks down at her hands, they are stained with dark red blood. She shakes her head. It wasn't her! She didn't do it!

Tom laughs.

* * *

Ginny Weasley wakes up with a start, heart hammering in her chest and sweating profusely. Immediately, her eyes find her hands. She examines them carefully. Nothing. They are their usual fair tone.

It was a dream. Just a horrifying dream. She draws a deep breath. Of course, it was! Tom Riddle is gone.

The door of her dorm bursts open.

“What the hell, Demelza!” Someone groans from another bed.

“Guess what?” Demelza's voice fills the room. “They found Michael Corner's body near the Slytherin Common Room.”


	2. Pain

His scar hurts terribly, stinging and burning. Pain sears through his forehead, sharp like thousands of needle points. It is merciless, without escape. It owns him, dominates him. He tries to scream but no sound comes out.

He turns to his side. Every inch of his body is covered in icy sweat. His bed covers are wrapped around him like a shroud. His breaths come in gaps. His heart is hammering in his chest. God! He is going to die.

He clutches his head in his hands. The pain is blinding him. He has to get out of here or he may really die.

He walks like his limbs don't belong to him, eyes unfocused and wand clasped tightly in his hands. He lets his legs lead him through the Gryffindor Common Room, through the empty corridors, deep into the dungeons.

_Mine! You're mine!_

Burning rage hisses through him like deathly poison. What he is feeling is not human, it is twisted and dark. His fingers tighten around his wand. Flames roar in his eyes. He needs release.

_Tell this idiot you're mine._

“I'm not yours!”

Fury bursts through him like an erupting volcano. He swishes his wand viciously. He will punish whoever dare not obey him.

The curse strikes the idiot right across the chest like a blunt knife. A grin stretches wide on his face as he watches the blood oozes out of the idiot's mouth.

“What have you done?”

The corpse collapses to the floor.

“You killed him!”

He roars with laughter.

* * *

There is a heavy silence in the Great Hall this morning. Hogwarts is mourning the death of Michael Corner.

Harry Potter sits between Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. The latter bows her head in an attempt to hide her tears. No one really knows what happened. A tragedy, Dumbledore said.

Harry's eyes find Ginny Weasley. She is sitting at the other end of the Gryffindor table. He can't help but notice her swollen face and her rather dull hair.

Ginny lifts her head and meets his gaze. Her bright brown eyes stand out in stark contrast to the gloomy Great Hall.

“Michael Corner was her boyfriend,” Hermione whispers.

Something tightens in his chest. His scar gives a painful twinge.


	3. Conned

She knows they talk about her whenever she is not there. She knows they look at her as though expecting her to break down at any moment. She hears them. She sees them. Do they think she is still this stupid eleven-years-old girl who poured her heart into a diary? For God's sake, she is not that girl anymore! She is stronger now. She fought her demons. She conquered her darkness.

_And yet, here I am._

She does not listen to him. She will not let him provoke her. If she ignores him, he will go away.

_Oh, Little Ginny! You're more stupid than I thought if you believe that._

She quickens her pace. She can hear his footsteps right behind her. She tells herself it is all happening in her head, that he is not real.

_But I'm very real, Little Ginny. Look at me._

Her whole body screams at her to keep going, to run far away from him, but Tom has always had this effect on her. He is perfect and ugly, warm and cold.

She looks up slowly. Her breath catches in her throat.

There, before her, stands a tall black-haired boy. It has been almost three years since she last saw his handsome face. He is strangely blurred around the edges, but there is no mistaking him.

Tom Riddle.

A smile curls the corner of his mouth.

_It's good to see you again, Little Ginny._

And just like that, she is back in the Chamber. She can hear drops of water hit the stone ground. She can smell the slime layers of moss that cover the walls. She can almost see the statue of Salazar Slytherin glaring down at her.

She gasps. Her ribs heave as though bound by ropes, straining to inflate her lungs. She can't breathe. She can't move. Oh, God! Tom is going to come out of the diary and she is going to die here, alone.

She falls limply to the floor. She is suffocating. Tears race down her cheeks. Her sobs echo through the empty corridor.

* * *

Ginny opens her eyes and looks to her left, then to her right. It takes her a moment to realise she is laying on the cold ground. How did she get here?

Her muscles feel weak and she has the most excruciating cramp in her shoulders. Her brain swims. How the hell did she get here?

She hears footsteps and quickly gets to her feet. A tall black-haired boy steps out of the shadowy corner.

She squints. “Harry?”

Harry jumps at the sound of her voice. He looks rather pale and is sweating profusely.

“Are you okay?”

He stares at her for a long moment, then swallows hard. “Fine. I'm fine.”

She watches him closely, not sure if she should believe him. He looks the opposite of fine. Her eyes travel over his face, down his neck, down his arm. That's where she notices the blood trickle down his wrist. Before she can stop herself, she grabs his hand and looks at the back.

“ _I must not tell lies._ ” She reads. It hits her like a Bludger. “Umbridge?”

Harry pulls his hand back.

“I should go,” he says, then sprints up to the Gryffindor Common Room.

Fierce protectiveness rips through her. Her hands squeeze into fists as she glares at Umbridge's office.

How dare she? This bitch!

Dolores Umbridge is found unconscious in her office the next morning. A deep cut on her forehead reads _The Dark Lord is back_.


	4. Guts

Dolores Umbridge's office is located on the third floor. No one would ever guess this is the office of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. The walls are a nauseating magenta. The surfaces have all been draped in tacky lacy covers. And instead of books, vases full of dried flowers fill the shelves.

It is upsetting, almost insulting that they chose her to teach this noble subject.

A cold shiver runs down his spine as he watches Umbridge from behind the white curtains. He has been sneaking out of his house since he was six, he will not get caught unless he let her.

Umbridge sits behind her desk and pours herself a cup of tea. Her toadlike mouth stretches in a smile. His fingers curl tightly around his wand. He knows the words are there, etched deeply into his skin. He will not look at them.

_I must not tell lies._

Lies? He almost laughs out loud at her idiocy. So she thinks he is an attention-seeker? That he tells evil, nasty stories? The fool. The Dark Lord is the past, present and future. He, the greatest wizard of all times, whose name is fear, will remain forever.

Umbridge moves around her desk and passes by him.

His nerves kick in.

He crashes into her fat body. She falls back against a shelf. A porcelain vase shatters on her head. Blood seeps from wounds where it has pierced her skull.

He peers down at her; she is struggling for breath. A smile curls the corners of his mouth.

Her bulging eyes widen when she recognises him. “You... Who let you in?”

His grin is almost feral. “I told you this wasn't a lie, Dolores.”

Breathing heavily, she gets on to all fours and pulls out her wand even as her hands are shaking. A fool, indeed.

He tilts his head. He could give her a painless death with Avada Kedavra. Or he could be more creative and make her eat her own bowels. But Umbridge swings her wand toward him, cutting a deep gash in his thigh.

His smile fades.

He tackles her to the ground and pins her down. She struggles ineffectually. The tip of his wand is burning hot in his hand, but there is something he needs to tell her before she receives her sentence.

“The Dark Lord is back, Dolores. Let's make sure the message sinks in.”

As sharp as a knife, his wand meets flesh, soft and pudgy, and sinks deep into Umbridge's forehead. She lets out an agonised cry. He twists his wand deeper and deeper. Her skin is tearing to shreds as the words appear on her forehead.

_The Dark Lord is back._

* * *

Harry is sick of Ron's worried looks, of Hermione's endless questions, of Seamus' nasty comments. He is barely keeping it together. His temper seems to have been bubbling just beneath the surface all day. If someone asks him what happened in Umbridge's office one more time, he is going to lose it.

He strides towards the Quidditch pitch. He needs to fly and forget.

He is surprised to find Ginny there. Even more surprised to see her up in the sky.

She circles the pitch, a blazing look on her face. She puts on a burst of speed and zooms towards the hoops, her flaming red hair fluttering in the icy wind. He is impressed at how good she is. She dives, loops, swoops. She is... well, he cannot think of any other word... beautiful.

It is a strange word, he realises, to describe Ginny Weasley.

Far too soon, she lands on the pitch, breathing heavily.

Harry makes his way towards her, determined to ask her where the hell did she learn to fly so gracefully. But Ginny stops dead in her tracks and yells, “Stop following me!” to no one in particular.

With that, she heads to the changing room, walking with a limp.


End file.
